Erastes

Erastes

Your eyes shiver under their lids

seeping through skin

their liquid vision slithers out

to baptize me

old and naked at the doorstep

of my love’s infancy.

You are the augur of adoration:

when you smile,

I descend,

and kiss your feet,

wash your legs,

cleanse my rugged hands

in the refuse of your bath.

Then you draw the life out of my leaves,

sap from the wood,

while I, blinded by bliss,

cry through parching lips for you:

“drown me, drown me--let me drink

the saccharin,

and crush

the berry of your maw!”

And I grow wild,

venomous,

a thorn outside the flowerbud,

vines clung to your body,

choking it.

But you could tame the savage heart,

ring the beating flesh with steel,

if you opened up your soul to me,

made me in your image: young,

let me love you, inside/out

and devour you!

So, if you return my stolen youth,

I will plant the seed

and water it

and with my hands

provide some shade,

and with a beam of glory,

become the sun,

and grow the vine

inside of you.

If you can make me young,

I’ll be your throne

of flowers.